


The River

by SirLancelotTheBrave



Series: The River [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1608977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLancelotTheBrave/pseuds/SirLancelotTheBrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Aramis is lost during a harrowing mission, D'Artagnan learns a secret Aramis and Porthos have been keeping from him. Or, D'Artagnan must be blind not to have noticed this before and Aramis gets hurt a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The River

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to this is also up. It's called "Don't Ever Do That Again"

The attack came out of nowhere. One moment the company of Musketeers was riding down the road, and the next men were swarming out of the trees, yelling and brandishing weapons. The company was present to protect the king on his trip to Lyon to visit a lord whose lands had been ravaged by recent flooding. They were about halfway there and they hadn't really been expecting any trouble. But trouble had found them.

It was an ideal place for an ambush, really. The road was narrow and only a thin strip of forest a quarter mile wide separated it from a short cliff jutting over the river that had destroyed the farmlands in a raging flood. With the cliff at their backs, it would make it harder for the Musketeers to protect the king. All of this flashed through D'Artagnan's head as he yanked his sword from his scabbard, wheeling his horse to meet the torrent of enemies.

Beside him he heard a crash of steel as Athos engaged with the enemy. As he parried a blow from a man on his right, he caught a glimpse of Porthos throwing himself bodily off his horse to crush three men to the ground. Aramis was further away, riding beside the king's carriage, where he'd been talking to Treville. The fighting seemed to be thicker there, but D'Artagnan wasn't worried. They were outnumbered, but the enemy fighters were outmatched. It would be a short fight.

He killed the man he was fighting with a graceful slash across the chest, and when no other ran to take his place, he sat back in his saddle for a breather. He was one of the only men still mounted. Most of the others had dropped from their saddles to pursue the enemy as they broke and fled. Three men darted into the trees near the cliff ahead, and D'Artagnan saw Aramis charge after them alone. He called to Porthos and gestured towards Aramis's retreating form, leaping from his saddle as he ran after his friend.

They saw several other Musketeers in the trees, some engaged with fleeing enemies, some trooping back to the king's carriage. The woods here might be narrow, but they were thick with underbrush, and D'Artagnan found himself following in Porthos's wake as they walked, allowing the larger man to crash through the thick tangles first.

He heard the ringing of steel up ahead, and a moment later they pushed out of the forest onto a grassy strip before the edge of the cliff. Aramis was too near the edge for D'Artagnan's liking, dueling with a pair of men who could barely keep up with his flashing blade. With a flourish he disarmed one, casting his blade into the river below. The man fled, then fell to his knees as Porthos's throwing dagger thudded into his shoulder. D'Artagnan glanced at Porthos, who seemed content to allow Aramis to handle the remaining man. Aramis fought gracefully, no wasted motions, every movement intended to bring him closer to victory. The other man never stood a chance. In a matter of seconds he was dead, and Aramis was turning towards them with a smile of triumph.

D'Artagnan was about to step forward when he heard a strangled sound beside him. Porthos was staring past Aramis, face white with fear. D'Artagnan looked too and felt the blood drain from his face. The man who'd been felled by Porthos's dagger was back on his feet, gun trained on Aramis's back. Aramis must have noted their expressions, for he half turned toward the man just as a gunshot cracked through the air.

Time seemed to slow down. D'Artagnan watched Aramis stumble backward as red blossomed across his left shoulder, teetering on the edge of the cliff. No one dared to breathe as the man tried to regain his footing. Aramis's eyes roved over him and fixed on Porthos in an expression of deep regret. Then his foot slipped and he tumbled backwards off the cliff and into the swollen river.

Porthos howled like a wild thing. He was running before D'Artagnan had time to process what had just happened. The man who had shot Aramis had his neck broken by Porthos's bare hands in a matter of seconds, and then he was at the cliff's edge. "Aramis!" Porthos cried desperately, dropping to his knees at the place where his friend had fallen.

Here D'Artagnan caught up to him and together they stared down into the raging river. There was no sign of Aramis at all. Porthos had gone whiter than D'Artagnan had ever seen him, gazing at the river with empty eyes. He didn't move when D'Artagnan touched his arm, and he realized the big man might be in shock. If Porthos was incapacitated, it was up to D'Artagnan to get them back and inform Athos and Treville of what had occurred.

"Porthos," D'Artagnan said, keeping his voice low. "We need to get back to the others. We can arrange a search party there." Porthos nodded blankly and allowed D'Artagnan to pull him away from the cliff's edge.

* * *

 

Back on the road, Treville was struggling to regain some kind of order. Athos stood by him, calling instructions to Musketeers as they emerged from the woods. Some were carrying injured men. Others bore bodies.

As D'Artagnan approached, he heard Athos call softly to Treville, "Two dead, and another seven wounded, captain." Treville nodded and ducked into the king's carriage, where the king could be heard shrilly demanding to know the identity of his attackers.

Athos caught sight of him. "Where's Aramis?" he asked distractedly as D'Artagnan walked up. "There are men who need stitching, and he's the best we have." When D'Artagnan didn't answer immediately, Athos's eyes moved past him to fix on Porthos, and he froze. "Where is Aramis?" he asked again, and his voice was different somehow. He sounded almost afraid, more emotion in his voice than D'Artagnan was accustomed to hearing. Porthos met his eyes and slowly lifted a hand that trembled slightly to point back at the river.

"He was fighting some men at the cliff's edge," D'Artagnan said, feeling as if he were outside his body, looking down on the scene. It all seemed so surreal. "One of them wasn't dead and shot him. He fell into the river. We couldn't see him." Athos stared at him as if he didn't want to believe what he was hearing.

Treville emerged from the carriage looking harried. "Seems like we ran afoul of some common country bandits. The fools probably didn't even realize who they were attacking. I need the four of you to scout ahead and check the road is clear." When no one answered him, he looked around slowly. "…Wait. Where's Aramis?"

Athos turned and looked at him. "River." Treville blanched.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly after a moment.

Porthos's head snapped up. "Sorry?" he asked, speaking for the first time. There was a wild light in his eyes. D'Artagnan thought he looked dangerous. "Sorry for what, exactly? There's nothin' to be sorry for. Aramis ain't dead." His voice cracked slightly on the last word. "That bullet hit 'im in the arm. He can swim. We need to go find 'im."

"Porthos, the current in that river is wild. There are rapids and rocks. Even if he was alive when he fell, he isn't now." Porthos shook his head stubbornly, glaring defiantly at the captain as if he could will the words to be false.

D'Artagnan was torn. Logically, he knew Treville was right, but his heart wouldn't believe it until he saw a body. Aramis couldn't just be gone, could he?

"We need to find him," Athos said quietly.

"I can't send a search party right now without leaving the king undefended."

"The chances of another attack are slim," D'Artagnan argued. "How many roving bands of thieves can there be on the road to Lyon?"

"I still can't risk it." When Porthos opened his mouth to argue, Treville raised a hand. "I said I can't send a search party. That is my final word. You'll have to find him alone."

Porthos shut his mouth. D'Artagnan felt a rush of gratitude towards the captain for allowing them to go retrieve their friend, or more likely, his body. "I hope you find him," Treville added, voice soft with sympathy, as he turned back to the king's carriage.

The three men moved towards their horses, Porthos catching up the reins to Aramis's black stallion along with his own. They would ride downriver and begin their search.

As they rode through the forest, following the line of the cliff, D'Artagnan noticed Athos watching Porthos closely. Curious, he too turned his attention to the large Musketeer. Porthos was unusually silent and still looked decidedly pale. When Porthos urged his horse to greater speeds, D'Artagnan glanced over at Athos. "Why are you watching him?" he muttered, voice low so Porthos wouldn't hear.

Athos looked at him appraisingly. "It cannot have escaped your attention that Porthos is not acting his usual self. Until we find Aramis, I will be watching him very closely indeed, and you should too. He doesn't take this well, and he may grow reckless or aggressive."

'Doesn't take what well?" he asked with a frown.

Athos glanced at him. "Uncertainty," he said shortly.

"So, uncertainty will make him reckless?" D'Artagnan was feeling thoroughly confused.

Athos sighed, looking put upon. "He will be likely to act with no regard for his personal safety. Well, more likely than usual," he amended.

"But surely he's been through things like this before?" D'Artagnan asked. "Aramis is a great friend to us all, but Porthos is a soldier. He has lost friends before. Not that I think Aramis is dead," he added quietly, refusing to relinquish the hope. "I just don't understand Porthos's reaction."

"We have all lost friends before," Athos replied, putting a slight emphasis on the word. "This is different." Before D'Artagnan could ask what he meant by that, Athos had urged his horse forward to join Porthos.

* * *

 

At last they came to a place where the sheer drop of the cliff gave way to a sandy shore. The river broadened and calmed, its surface smooth and unbroken. Athos had decided they would search for Aramis on foot rather than try to drag the horses through the tangle of bushes lining the banks. They led their horses off the narrow path and tied them in a clearing ringed by thick underbrush. It would be no help to anybody if a pack of surviving bandits stumbled upon their horses and ran off with them.

Upriver, white spray rose from wild-looking rapids, wreathing jagged rocks that stretched from the water. D'Artagnan winced internally at the shape Aramis would be in after going through all that.

"We must spread out to search," Athos ordered. "I will cross the river and search the far bank. D'Artagnan, you and Porthos will search along this side. If you find any signs, shout out. We will find him," he added, meeting Porthos's gaze with a serious expression.

As Porthos moved away, Athos grabbed D'Artagnan's arm. "Watch him," he instructed gravely. D'Artagnan nodded, worry twisting his stomach. In his head, he kept imagining coming upon Aramis's lifeless body, battered beyond recognition. He wondered what Porthos would do.

D'Artagnan and Porthos moved down the shore, eyes roving the beach and shallows for any sign of Aramis. They'd been searching for over half an hour when D'Artagnan caught sight of something fetched up against a fallen tree. He hurried over and retrieved Aramis's hat. It was soaked through from the icy river and the feather was missing. Porthos approached silently and pulled it from his hands.

"Porthos, I'm sorry…" D'Artagnan began, but Porthos growled savagely. His expression hardened and he turned back to the river to continue searching. D'Artagnan followed, feeling his hope flickering dangerously in the wake of Porthos's desperate fury. If Aramis was gone, who would calm the big man's rage?

About ten minutes later, Porthos held up his hand. D'Artagnan stopped, listening. He could hear voices in the trees. "…telling you, I saw one fall in the river!" A man's whining voice was saying. "If'n we find the body, there'll be some loot on it. We ought ter get somethin' from this thrice cursed blunder."

D'Artagnan's blood boiled with rage and Porthos growled softly. These men wanted to strip Aramis's body! They could not allow these thieves to get their grubby paws on Aramis. He glanced at Porthos, who nodded, and together they crept into the trees.

It was the work of a moment to locate the voices. Five men, sporting various minor injuries, were crashing through the brush towards the riverbank. Porthos pointed to the two on the left and looked pointedly at D'Artagnan, who nodded. In front of them, the men had suddenly clustered around something on the shore. "Look 'ere," cried a man with a thin face. "Blood! I reckon he can't be far." D'Artagnan crept into position in the bushes behind him.

"What if he's still alive?" another man asked.

"Then we slit 'is throat," the weasel-faced one, who seemed to be the leader, said with a laugh. His compatriots guffawed sycophantically, sending fury coursing through D'Artagnan's veins.

On the far side of the group, Porthos was in place. He nodded to D'Artagnan and the pair leapt out of hiding, causing the little group of bandits to shriek in surprise. One pulled out a rusty blade and rushed at D'Artagnan, who disarmed him easily. To his left, he saw one man knock the gun from Porthos's hand, only to be flung heavily into a tree. That was all he had time to notice before he was flat on his back, fighting for his life. The second man hadn't bothered with a blade. He just charged bodily, knocking him off his feet and trying to choke the life out of him. D'Artagnan scrabbled for purchase and managed to pull his knife free from his belt. He thrust upwards heavily, pushing the man's body off him as he fell.

Looking around, he saw Porthos removing his blade from the body of his defeated opponent. Only the weasel-faced man remained on his feet. Porthos smirked grimly and took a step towards him, only to freeze when the man gave a cruel smile and pulled out a gun he'd had stashed in the back of his belt. Porthos's own gun lay far behind him where it had fallen in the bushes near the trees. D'Artagnan felt his mouth go dry.

"You don't want to do that," he called, trying to keep his voice even, reaching for his gun unobtrusively. "You can't kill us both, and I'll get you as soon as you shoot. If you drop the gun now, we'll let you leave in peace."

The man laughed. "I'll take this one with me then." His eyes gleamed manically as he looked toward the man Porthos had just impaled. "He killed my brother." D'Artagnan saw his finger tighten on the trigger and jerked forward, knowing even as he did so he could never make it in time, not with his own gun tangled in his belt.

Porthos closed his eyes as a gunshot cracked through the forest. Across the river, he heard Athos shout in alarm. D'Artagnan stared at Porthos in confusion as the other man opened his eyes and looked down at his chest, where blood had miraculously failed to appear. He glanced at D'Artagnan, who shrugged and turned to look at the bandit in time to see him fall to his knees with a shocked expression, blood pouring out of a hole shot directly through his heart. D'Artagnan glanced past him, wondering if someone had shot him from behind. There was no one there. He and Porthos realized what that meant at the same moment and turned around, readying weapons in case a new attack was coming from behind.

It wasn't. Instead, a man stood at the edge of the woods, holding Porthos's gun loosely by his side, his other arm braced against a tree for support. Soaked through, covered in bruises, and bleeding from a dozen cuts and scratches, Aramis still managed a small smile and a wink. Porthos made a sound in the back of his throat halfway between a growl and a sob and strode towards him. Aramis took a half step forward and swayed alarmingly. Porthos caught him before he could fall and crushed his lips against Aramis's.

* * *

 

D'Artagnan was floored. What was going on? Porthos stood in front of him, half supporting Aramis and kissing him like his life depended on it, and Aramis certainly wasn't stopping him. D'Artagnan felt foolish standing there with his mouth open, so he shut it, wondering if everyone had suddenly gone insane. Maybe he'd been hit on the head?

Porthos and Aramis had broken apart, but Porthos hadn't released the other man, instead clutching him tightly to his chest. "I thought you were dead," he said hoarsely, while Aramis buried his face against Porthos's neck.

A splashing sound indicated Athos's arrival. He took in the scene before him, eyes glancing over at Aramis with stark relief before noting the dead bodies and D'Artagnan's shocked expression. He walked over and D'Artagnan looked up at him helplessly. "I- they- they just started doing that, and I don't know-"

"Not many do," Athos interrupted calmly, and D'Artagnan stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Not many people know about this," Athos repeated. "Though I suppose you'd have found out sooner or later if you're to be one of us." He clapped D'Artagnan on the shoulder. "Relax. It means they trust you."

He walked over to Aramis and Porthos, who had at last remembered that there were other people in the clearing. Athos too embraced Aramis, though not in the manner Porthos had, and looked him over for injuries while Porthos kept an arm around him protectively, supporting most of his weight. D'Artagnan followed, his thoughts jumbled together impossibly. He didn't know what was going on, but he hugged Aramis anyway, glad to find him alive regardless of who he chose to kiss.

Privately, D'Artagnan was a little apprehensive that Aramis might try to kiss _him_ too, but the older man did nothing of the sort, and D'Artagnan stepped back, feeling slightly relieved as he took a good look at the injured Musketeer.

Aramis was coated in mud, mixed in many places with blood, which made it difficult to assess his injuries. He was visibly shivering with cold. "How in God's name did you survive the rapids?" Athos asked in amazement. Aramis grimaced slightly.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. They bashed me up pretty badly, and when I hit my head I thought I was done for, but then I woke up on the beach and spat out a lake's worth of water." He shrugged, wincing as the motion pulled at his shoulder. "After that I hid out in the trees to wait for someone to come looking. Wasn't sure how far I'd drifted. When I saw you about to get yourself shot too I thought I'd better step in," he said, rolling his eyes at Porthos's wounded expression. "And I lost my hat," he added, looking more put out by that than anything else.

Despite his recent shock, D'Artagnan grinned at his expression and laughed outright when Porthos presented the rescued hat with a flourish. Aramis hissed in pain as he tried to place it on his head, and Athos and Porthos seemed to remember they should be checking his injuries. Athos swung his cloak around Aramis's shoulders like a blanket, instructing Porthos to keep him warm and clean him up as best he could in the river. He then told D'Artagnan to fetch the medical supplies from where they'd left the horses.

As he jogged, he tried to sort through what he had just witnessed. He remembered Athos telling him earlier that Porthos had lost friends, but this was different: clearly he had been referring to whatever this was. He recalled Porthos's expression as he looked down at the river, and the change in it when he saw Aramis behind him. D'Artagnan had heard of men who lay with other men, but the Church claimed that they were wicked and damned. He'd been taught that he should feel revulsion, but he didn't. Porthos and Aramis were his friends. He couldn't imagine the larger than life Porthos as a wicked, deceitful creature, nor could he imagine Aramis's God condemning them to Hell for loving each other. And if God didn't judge them, why should D'Artagnan?

Feeling comforted, if not entirely reassured, D'Artagnan grabbed the supplies and hurried back to the others. He re-entered the clearing to find a more or less mud-free Aramis attempting to remove his wet shirt. It was sticking painfully to his wound and his movements were stiff. As D'Artagnan strode over, the shirt came off and he saw why.

A vicious black bruise stretched across Aramis's back from right shoulder to left hip. Athos glanced at him questioningly. "Hit a rock," Aramis informed him tiredly. He looked down at his torso, mottled black and blue. "Make that several rocks."

Athos pressed his fingers to the bullet wound in his shoulder and Aramis hissed in pain. Porthos placed a hand comfortingly on the back of his neck, rubbing gently. D'Artagnan was struck by the gesture. Despite everything he had been taught, it seemed so natural, so right. He was honestly surprised at that moment that he hadn't figured it out sooner. He smiled at the pair as he approached, trying to convey that everything was fine, and Porthos nodded once, understanding.

"Here are the supplies," he said breathlessly to Athos, tired from the run through the forest. He had all but sprinted on the journey back, not sure of the extent of Aramis's injuries. He was relieved to see the only serious wound seemed to be to his left shoulder. He was covered in bruises and cuts, but nothing that looked life threatening.

"Thank you, D'Artagnan," Athos said, rummaging for some bandages. He passed a bottle of something to Porthos, who held it up for Aramis to drink. Grimacing, the smaller man shook his head.

"I've already drank half the river," he joked weakly. "I'd rather not." Porthos shrugged and tipped the bottle back himself.

"That was for the patient," Athos remarked dryly. Porthos shrugged, unconcerned.

"It's been a long day." As he spoke, his hand unconsciously tightened on Aramis's neck as if to reassure himself the man was truly there. "Besides, Aramis hates drinkin' before he gets stitched up. You knew that when you offered." Athos did not deny it and Porthos grinned. "So that means you were really offerin' it to me." He punctuated the sentence with another swig of wine.

Athos raised his eyebrows in exasperation but didn't respond, threading a needle carefully. When he leaned down to inspect the front of the bullet wound, which had passed cleanly through Aramis's shoulder, Aramis held out a hand. "I'll do the front myself."

Athos glared at him, but it was Porthos who spoke. "You're exhausted, love." D'Artagnan wondered a little at the endearment, but otherwise thought nothing of it. It already seemed commonplace. "Let Athos do it."

Aramis shook his head stubbornly. "You lot stitch like you're missing a couple of fingers," he accused. "I'm not having a great unsightly scar just because I'm tired. I can stitch the front."

"I could do it," D'Artagnan spoke up suddenly. "I'm quite good with a needle. I do all my own mending." Aramis gazed at him for a moment, then met Porthos's worried eyes.

"Oh very well," he said with a sigh. "But if you mess up, I'll be sure to return the favor next time you need stitches."

D'Artagnan was indeed excellent with a needle, though not as good as Aramis himself. It took him only a few minutes to sew up the entrance and exit wounds, as well as a long shallow cut on Aramis's arm that Porthos insisted needed stitches despite Aramis's protests.

As he worked, he watched Porthos out of the corner of his eye. Porthos had moved so he was pressed close against Aramis, who was still shivering. The silence stretched, weighing on D'Artagnan. He felt the need to break it. "I'm amazed you made a shot that perfect in this condition," he said to Aramis.

"The best in the garrison," Porthos informed him proudly. Aramis rolled his eyes. "What? You are!" he said with a rumbling laugh, and Aramis smiled fondly at him.

After he was done, Athos constructed a makeshift sling from clothing requisitioned from the dead bandits and tied up Aramis's arm. "We need to return to the horses before it gets dark," Athos said seriously, eyeing the setting sun. "Can you walk?" Aramis nodded determinedly, so they set off, leaving the bandits where they lay.

* * *

 

As it turned out, Aramis was only partially corrected. He could walk, provided Porthos supported the majority of his weight, as his right leg kept attempting to give out and with only one arm he couldn't always catch himself in time. The second time he fell he landed with his bound arm trapped beneath him, putting pressure on his bullet wound, and nearly passed out from the pain. After that, Porthos walked with an arm round his waist, Aramis's good arm slung across his shoulders, keeping him upright.

The journey back to the horses took much longer than it had taken them before. They had to move slowly to accommodate Aramis's injuries, and D'Artagnan could sense Athos scanning the woods constantly, on the alert in case they ran into any more surviving bandits. Now would not be good time for a fight.

When at last they reached the horses, darkness had fallen. Athos hurried to light a fire while D'Artagnan set up camp and prepared some food. Porthos lowered Aramis to the ground and crouched anxiously beside him. Aramis was white and gasping with pain from the hour long trip. He didn't refuse when Porthos offered him the wine a second time. Once the tent was set up, Porthos carefully maneuvered him inside and did not reemerge.

When the food was hot, D'Artagnan went in to offer some to Aramis and Porthos. Inside, he found Aramis sound asleep, lying on his uninjured side with his head on Porthos's chest and Porthos's left arm wrapped carefully around him. Porthos held a hand to his lips in a gesture of silence and took the food with a nod of thanks, trying not to jostle the injured man. Something in D'Artagnan warmed at the sight. Before today, he would have laughed if anyone had called Porthos of all people 'gentle,' but watching him with Aramis revealed another side of his personality that might otherwise have remained hidden.

Leaving the tent quietly, D'Artagnan went to sit by the fire. Athos offered him a second bottle of wine, which he accepted gratefully.

"Long day," Athos observed. D'Artagnan took a long swig and passed him the bottle.

"How long have you known?" he asked the older man curiously.

"Almost as long as I've known them," Athos shrugged.

"How did you find out?"

"It is a long story, and oddly similar in execution to what just occurred." Athos offered the warning but did not seem unwilling to tell the tale regardless. D'Artagnan leapt on the chance.

"Where am I going to go?" D'Artagnan pointed out with a smile, eager to hear the story.

Athos shrugged. Taking another long pull from the bottle, he began the tale.

"It was years ago. I had only been with the regiment a year. Treville had become fond of putting me with Aramis and Porthos. I think he thought some responsibility would be good for them." Athos smirked. "It was a standard mission: patrol the royal forest. An easy assignment. Except with Aramis and Porthos things can never just be simple. In the woods we were attacked by a large group of men. Don't ask me what they were doing there. I never found out. Aramis killed them all." D'Artagnan gaped at him and Athos chuckled. "I'll explain."

"Well, we were fighting, doing well enough, when ten or so of them darted off into the woods. I told Aramis to let them go, but Porthos didn't hear me, or maybe he just decided not to listen. Either way, off he went after them on his own and Aramis and I were too busy to go with him and make sure he stayed in one piece. After a few minutes, we'd taken out our opponents and off we went to find him."

"We could hear fighting from up ahead. We ran into a clearing and found the idiot trying to take on all ten at once. They were standing around him in a circle and he was just bashing away at them and dodging their attacks. I was all for letting him sweat for a bit so he'd think before charging in next time, but I remember Aramis looked unusually anxious and threw himself into the fray, and so naturally I followed."

"We'd killed about five of them when one pulled a knife from his tunic and hurled it at Porthos. He took it in the side, low, and went down hard." Athos paused, gazing into the fire. He appeared to be in deep thought. "I've never heard a man yell like that before."

"Porthos?" D'Artagnan asked.

Athos shook his head. "No. Aramis. You'd think it was him that had been injured. He screamed Porthos's name and had three of our attackers on the ground before I could finish one. I shouted for him to leave the last alive for questioning but I believe he was beyond listening. He killed the man before I could stop him. I've never seen a rapier take a man's head off so cleanly before." D'Artagnan winced. That would take an awful lot of power.

"He threw himself down by Porthos's side and started checking the wound. Porthos was unconscious and bleeding badly. Aramis always carried a needle and thread, even back then, so he pulled the knife out and got to work right away. He wouldn't let me help, and he snapped at me every time I spoke. His expression was… unsettling. His face was whiter than Porthos's and there was this frantic look in his eye. It had me on edge. I wasn't sure what to make of it."

"Eventually, we got Porthos patched up and back to the garrison somehow. The knife had missed everything important, but he developed a fever that lasted three days. I sat with him when I could. Aramis never left that bedside. Not once did I see him close his eyes or eat a bite. I was starting to worry Porthos would wake up and I'd have to explain that Aramis had simply wasted away in front of me." Athos shook his head. "Wasn't sure how I would have survived that. Porthos would've gone ballistic."

"On the third day his fever broke and he opened his eyes. Aramis and I were both there. He called for Aramis. Thought the man might pass out from the relief. He walked straight over, bent down, and kissed Porthos full on the mouth. I'm lucky I was near a chair, for I sat down rather heavily at that." Athos grinned wryly. "It was rather shocking." D'Artagnan laughed and accepted the proffered wine bottle, now nearly empty courtesy of Athos.

"They stayed like that for long enough that I realized I wasn't really surprised. It was shocking but not unexpected. I wondered how I hadn't seen it before. Eventually Aramis recalled that I was in the room and got incredibly nervous. He was worried I would react like the Church teaches. I told him I didn't care who he shared his nights with and that if he and Porthos were happy then that should be all that mattered. I'll never forget the gratitude in his eyes. I informed Porthos I was glad he was awake and left the room to give them privacy. We never discussed it again."

Athos shrugged and drained the last of the wine. "They've given me the privacy of my past and offered me a home when I was alone in the world. I'm not going to judge them for something like love."

They sat in silence for some time. D'Artagnan noticed Athos hiding a yawn behind his hand. "You can get some sleep if you want," he told him with a smile. "I'd like a chance to think about everything that's happened." Athos grunted his acceptance and lay down beside the fire. D'Artagnan stared up at the stars and thought about love.

* * *

 

The moon was high in the sky and Athos had long since fallen asleep, stretched out catlike beside the fire, when the flap of the tent was pushed back and Porthos emerged. He moved wordlessly into the trees and returned a few moments later. He paused at the fire, clearly trying to decide if he should sit with D'Artagnan for a moment or rejoin Aramis. Apparently Aramis was fine for now, because after a moment of deliberation the big man sat down beside D'Artagnan.

"How is he?" D'Artagnan asked.

"He's doin' alright," Porthos informed him, running a tired hand across his face. "Warmed up a bit at least. Bullet wound was treated early enough that I doubt it'll get infected. He's covered in bruises and cuts, but nothin's broken. Even the blow to 'is head ain't too bad." D'Artagnan shuddered at the thought of what a bad head wound could've done to the lively Musketeer. "It could've been a lot worse," Porthos finished. There was gratitude in his voice.

D'Artagnan nodded fervently in agreement, offering a prayer of thanks to God that they had found Aramis alive and in one piece. In his mind he had seen Aramis as a bloated, waterlogged corpse, staring sightlessly at the sky, Porthos kneeling by his side with a broken expression. Now that image would exist only in his nightmares.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until Porthos spoke again. "Well?"

"Well what?" D'Artagnan asked, confused.

Porthos chuckled. "I'm sure you've got questions thunderin' around that head of yours. Ask away."

"You don't mind?" He was rather surprised. He did have questions, though it wasn't like he would've pried. But if Porthos was giving him permission…

"Not at all." Porthos grinned at him. "Rather have you get it all out now than drive yourself crazy thinkin' about it. Aramis won't mind," he added, accurately guessing D'Artagnan's first question. "I told 'im before he fell asleep. He warned me not to scare you with tales." Porthos's bright smile flashed in the firelight.

D'Artagnan sat thinking for a moment, wondering what to ask first. For some reason, he could only think of one question. "What about all of Aramis's lovers? Is that just a ruse?"

Porthos looked at him, clearly amused. "That's what you wanna know?" D'Artagnan nodded. "Alright. It's true Aramis lies with women. It's in 'is nature to love in abundance." Porthos smiled fondly. "He'd forsake women if I asked it, but it'd make 'im unhappy, and people would ask awkward questions if the famous Aramis stopped charmin' ladies. They're no threat to me. He may love 'em for a while, but he'll never be theirs. I 'ave my mistresses too, though they're fewer and farther between."

D'Artagnan thought about this. Porthos seemed very confident of Aramis's feelings. He wondered what it was like to love someone like that. "Do many people know?"

Porthos looked at him, face serious. "No. The only ones I or Aramis 'ave ever spoken to about it are Athos and yourself. Treville suspects, 'as for a long time, but he's too honorable to ask and we're good at being discreet. The others won't catch on, and that's enough for 'im. Not sure what he'd do if we got caught. What 'e could do."

Porthos's face looked grim for a moment. The next minute the shadow passed and he grinned again. "And Flea surely knows. Might've been part of the reason she didn't try 'arder to convince me to stay. She saw how we were together. Though it's not like it would've been 'ard to guess. She said Aramis was runnin' around attacking people and demandin' to know where I was. Not exactly subtle." He laughed heartily. "Even without that, the pretense wouldn't have fooled 'er, though she didn't bring it up before I left. As a young man, I never could seem to choose between men and women."

"So it has always been this way for you?"

Porthos shrugged. "I think so. Aramis is different. He loved Marsac before 'e loved me. He doesn't ever talk about 'im."

Porthos was silent a moment, and D'Artagnan felt suddenly the burden of trust his friend was placing on him. It was flattering, but also frightening. "Aramis loved 'im, but never before did 'e truly act on it. Wouldn't have now, if I hadn't realized how 'e felt and made the first move." Porthos grinned at the memory. "It was quite nerve-wrackin', too. I was a little worried 'e might break my nose, but then he kissed me back. Lucky for me 'e did."

D'Artagnan smiled at the thought of Porthos ever being nervous. "You love him." It was a statement, not a question, and Porthos treated it as such.

"I do." The simple happiness in Porthos's voice warmed D'Artagnan more than the fire. He felt a rush of fierce happiness on his friends' behalf. He hoped he would find someone to love as much as Porthos loved Aramis.

Porthos glanced at him, looking suddenly contrite. "I'm sorry if I gave you a fright with my behavior earlier. I'm not one to lose my head in a crisis, but when 'e went over that cliff, I…" Porthos stopped, looking ill, and D'Artagnan cut him off before he could continue.

"No need to apologize, my friend. It is forgotten. I'm sure I would have done the same in your place, had it been my love who was lost to me." Porthos nodded gratefully and rose.

"I'll kick Athos awake. You should get some rest." D'Artagnan grinned and Porthos echoed it before turning back to the tent, aiming a kick at their leader's sleeping form. D'Artagnan waited until Athos sat up and stopped cursing to leave the firelight.

When D'Artagnan entered the tent, he found Porthos already sleeping at the far end, Aramis clutched protectively in his arms. He realized they'd been holding back all this time whenever he was around. He got the feeling those restrictions were about to vanish. He smiled and lay down, pulling his cloak over him as a blanket. Tonight, the world seemed a slightly happier place.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought of it :)


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